Everywhere you go
by LastDaysofDancing
Summary: Broody, self-made guitarist and lyricist of up-and-coming rock band The Serpents, Jughead Jones, finds himself crossing paths with the girl of his dreams: Betty Cooper, blonde superstar with a love of old school Americana and a complicated past. Rated M for language at present.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: You know the drill, I do not own Riverdale or its characters. **

**Prologue.**

**Present day. New York City.**

**Jughead: **

There's a certain tropical airiness that runs through all my favorite summer songs. I've never really been a summer-down-at-the-beach kind of guy. Growing up in upstate New York, summer was always restless and chaotic – and over before you knew it. It never lingered long enough to truly make sense. Back then, young enough that life was still on hold – but old enough to long for it to start – I used to fall asleep on the pullout couch of my old man's double wide to the sounds of motorcycle engines, fighting neighbors, and the sound of my dad sleeping off his nightly intake of whiskey with a loud snore. I would imagine what the summer nights in the city would be like – the soft notes from the downtown jazz clubs winding its way through the air, the heat evaporating from the concrete sidewalks, the life I couldn't wait to lead.

I might have slept easier back then if I had known where I'd end up – or maybe not, I don't know. All I know in this moment, with Neil Finn proclaiming that _"you can fight the sleep but not the dream"_ through the speakers, there is no comfort to be found between my very expensive Egyptian cotton sheets tonight. I turn down the volume, shrug on a t-shirt and get out of bed again for a 2:00 am smoke. The traffic sounds of the East Village through the open window usually calms me down at this time of night, but this is no ordinary case of heat induced insomnia.

I could call someone. Most of the people I know are awake all night anyway, working or partying. But just thinking about picking up the phone makes my skin crawl. Deep down, I know that the distractions of the city can do nothing for me tonight. It's a writer's night. A night for sitting on the fire escape, smoking until dawn. For listening to records and watching someone sway slowly across my bedroom floor as they close their eyes and lose themselves in the music.

No. Not someone.

Her.

_It's a Betty Cooper kind of night._

My friends would probably piss themselves laughing if they knew how sappy I'm being. Then they would threaten to kick me out of the band if I don't take a long hard look at himself. Toni, in particular, would tell me to remember that I'm almost thirty years old now, _for god's sake_, and that even if my fans still think I have some credibility left, she sure as hell doesn't think so. "Age has made you lose faith in your convictions, Jug." She would say - and shove a guitar into my hands to stop me from picking up another cigarette.

And she's always right of course. Even when she's just teasing me.

Maybe I _have_ lost the courage of my convictions. Maybe that's why I'm lying awake in bed - on a night so perfect for writing – unable to pick up a pen.


	2. Chapter 2

**_2 years ago. _**

**_Blossom Entertainment Inc.-building, Manhattan, New York City._**

* * *

**Betty:**

"I know I'm running late Cheryl, but traffic through Hell's Kitchen was a fucking nightmare and Archie called last minute to say he wasn't going to make his flight back from L.A. tonight so don't start with me, okay?"

I can see that Cheryl is not at all swayed by my excuses. Her eyebrow does that thing it does when she is judging me and then she sighs and looks me up and down. Her long red hair is perfectly styled in loose waves and her lips are scarlet, as always. The rest is all black. Black dress, black shoes, black handbag. She looks like if Catwoman had a career change and started working at a record label.

"Well, at least you look like you're ready to go on soon. I'm not letting you leave the venue after soundchecks anymore if you're going to be late every time I let you headline. I'm not going to give you special treatment just because we're cousins" she says before downing the rest of her champagne and rolling her eyes.

I can't hold back the smirk forming on my lips. "Oh come on Cher, who else would headline this thing? You know I'm your best closer."

Deciding not to push my luck – I give her a wink and a kiss on the cheek before moving towards the backstage area before she tries to continue scolding me. I mean, she _is_ kind of my boss, after all.

* * *

**Jughead:**

"Explain to me again what we are doing here, T" I say as we move through another small crowd of men in expensive suits and women who look vaguely familiar in that young, up-and-coming popstar kind of way. I duck out of the way as another tray of champagne glasses is being shoved into my path.

Toni sighs. "You're getting on my last nerve, Jones, that's what you're doing here" she warns. "I swear, it's like pulling teeth with you every damn day."

I shut up, because in fairness – I do know what we are doing here. We are taking advantage of the free food and drinks. We are "networking" (cue inevitable eyeroll). And most importantly – we are trying to get on the radio.

When we signed with Keller Recordings, we didn't reflect much on the fact that it was an imprint label owned by the massive BE Inc. corporation. It was cool, but it didn't really seem to affect us much. But lo and behold – here we are, our little indie garage band in the middle of the summer showcase of one of the biggest labels in the business. To be honest, I'm a simple man – they had me at free food for the evening. I just don't do well with crowds.

* * *

**Betty: **

Backstage, I check my phone again to see if there are any texts from Archie. It seems like they are getting more and more elusive every time he goes back to L.A. these days. Usually, I try to stay away from the gossip about him – I mean, if anyone knows what its like to read lies about yourself all over the papers, it's me. So, in a way, I understand where he is coming from when he is angry with me for getting suspicious. But every time he gets cagey about the rumors, I can't help but feel like he is overcompensating for something.

Sometimes I wonder how we are going to make it all work in the long run – between my constant touring and him being on location for several months at a time, I feel like time-zone adjusted phone calls and two-day stop-overs are all we have these days. But then I see that mop of red hair and that beautiful smile of his, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have found someone like him when I needed it the most.

I met Archie when I was just seventeen. He was two years older, had just caught his big break playing a young soldier in a Spielberg-film and the second single from my first album had just made it onto the Billboard top 100, much to everyone's surprise. Cheryl got me onto the cover of a magazine, and I met Archie at the shoot. Damn, I was so easy, it was ridiculous. He had this classic ladies' man air about him, the quarterback from some hick town who fucked all the girls in high school, including some of the teachers, and then set out to be a movie star.

I'd never been a cheerleader, but at the time I was swept up by that aesthetic pretty hard – the blue jean baby, good girl on the back of a motorcycle, kind of thing. I took all my styling cues from Cheryl back then, so it was no wonder. And we made such a fucking good-looking couple right from the start, Archie and me. We still do.

Sometimes I just get scared that his heart's not in it anymore.

* * *

**Jughead: **

I have lost track of how many noncommittal noises we have wrangled out of mid-level tv-producers and radio hosts for the last couple of hours and I am fucking desperate for a cigarette. Some country-pop-crossover is barely keeping the attention of the crowd closest to the stage and I start to inch my way to the exit when she finally stops singing. I can see our label rep, Kevin Keller, looking around, presumably searching for me, as he's talking to Sweet Pea and Fangs. If I can only get out of here before he spots me, I should be able to make a run for it.

A voice stops me dead in my tracks. I don't even have to turn around to know what just happened.

Betty Cooper just stepped on stage and started singing.

The looks of Grace Kelly and Peggy Lee. Voice like a perfect mix of Stevie Nicks and Dusty Springfield. Attitude of CBGBs-era Debbie Harry. I turn back around in an instant, cigarette forgotten.

Because I guess that's just what you do when your all-time favorite celebrity crush is right behind you.

* * *

**Betty**:

It is just a simple showcase, but I am absolutely killing it on stage. I can feel it, people stop what they were doing, abandoning their drinks or their conversations and turning towards me to really _listen_. By the second song, I have them in the palm of my hand – even the boring suits from the sales department. Maybe it is the energy of coming in late, being rushed through hair and make-up, the pure nerve of doing everything with just a few seconds to spare. The live wire. Whatever it is, it is working.

But, as I step off stage and let out a deep breath of tension and excess adrenaline, something unbearable comes rushing back with full force. I make it back to the dressing room and the emptiness of it is striking and imposing, even with the applause of the audience still ringing in my ears.

I check my phone again. Nothing.

Before I can feel the walls starting to close in on me, I put the phone back in my purse, do a quick lipstick check in the mirror and rush back out to the party. Usually, I would just go home and try to get ahold of him. But the thought of going back to our empty apartment tonight is just too depressing to handle.

* * *

**Author's Note: I don't own anything Riverdale-related. English is not my first language and I don't have anyone to proofread, which might explain any mistakes. I do not know anything about the music industry aside from what I've seen on TV, so please take this with a pinch of salt and all that. A truly humble thank you to anyone who takes the time to read and review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**_18 months ago. _**

**_The Staples Center, Los Angeles, California._**

* * *

**Betty**:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the one and only: Betty Coooooooper!"

Taking one final deep breath and squeezing Polly's hand one last time before letting go, I make my way out onto the stage. I have practiced walking in this dress and heels for weeks, nervous that I am suddenly going to lose all my basic motor skills when faced with this moment. It's not stage fright. I am used to arenas filled with screaming fans by now. But this is different. These people aren't here for me or my music. These people can turn on me at any given moment. This is not the place to let myself be vulnerable.

So why the hell am I doing this again?!

Right, my integrity as an artist. My need to express myself honestly. What a load of crap. Oh God, _why_ did I think this was a good idea?! The music starts just as I plant my right foot down on the camera mark on the stage floor. Well, here goes nothing.

_It's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain_

_As if a good thing ever could make up for all the pain_

_There'll be no last chance to promise to never mess it up again_

_Just the sweet pain of watching your back as you walk_

_As I'm watching you walk away_

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Jughead:**

This night is quickly turning out way more interesting than I had expected.

When our label told us that we had been nominated for a Grammy, I felt on top of the world. I'm not really thrilled about becoming famous and all the attention that comes with it some days, but who doesn't like to win things, right? Especially a something as prestigious as a Grammy. However, I expected this to be pretty much the same the other award shows and parties we have been invited to over the last couple of months. The mainstream pop people and the R&B- and rap artists would command most of the attention on the red carpet and the cameras, so we could mostly focus on hanging out with each other and drinking while waiting for our category.

I had heard that Betty Cooper was set to perform tonight, the first performance in quite a while. It is not like I have been keeping up with all the stuff in the tabloids or anything, but whenever they would talk about her on the radio or some tv show, I would pick up on it somehow. I know she has probably forgotten all about me by now. I mean, we only met that one time, and it was a long time ago now. But I still like her music, the melodies, the sweet bluesy notes of her last record. (And if we are being honest – she looks like _that_.) So I guess I was a little excited knowing she was going to be here, but that's all it was.

About an hour into the ceremony, they announce her name and I look up to watch the performance and something just… happens.

I can't really explain it without sounding like an asshole. It's instant attraction, plain and simple. My heart doesn't stop, and I don't get butterflies or whatever. But I want her. Just like that. I feel like a hormonal teenager seeing a beautiful woman naked for the first time. Every nerve ending is suddenly standing to attention and as the room goes silent during the first few bars of the song, I imagine what being with someone like her would be like. She is in a long red dress, the kind that is tight around her torso but still flows out from her hips all the way down to the floor. The kind of dress the princesses would wear in those movies Jellybean used to watch when she was younger. Her hair is out, framing her face in loose curls and while I am not close enough to the stage to see her face clearly, I see the dark eyeshadow highlighting her deep green eyes in the close-up on the jumbotron. I let out a deep breath, which takes the form of a low, drawn out whistle. _Jesus. _Being this starstruck is really not good for my streetcred.

And then she starts singing.

_It's a cruel thing you'll never know all the ways I tried_

_It's a hard thing, faking a smile when I feel_

_Like I'm falling apart inside_

_And now you're gone, there's like an echo in my head_

_And I remember every word you said_

_But you never were, and you never will be mine_

It is so raw that it fucking breaks my heart. There is so much emotion behind every word, it's like she's not just singing, she's sending a message. And there is not a single person here tonight who doesn't know who the intended recipient is.

Archie Andrews.

Their break-up is legendary. America's sweethearts - a really public and dramatic affair. It was six months ago, I think, but it was bad. As I said, I don't keep track of celebrity gossip but even I heard about it. Pictures of her crying in a nightclub on the cover of US Weekly, Archie releasing a critically acclaimed break-up album in record time and rumors of different rebound prospects being discussed on Twitter like it was the most interesting thing in the history of the world.

Seems like there is another break-up album about to be released. I almost feel bad for Archie. It can't be easy sitting next to his new girlfriend listening to this in front of millions of people on live tv. Poor guy.

But then again, he did dump _Betty fucking Cooper_. He only has himself to blame for that one as far as I'm concerned.

Idiot.

* * *

.

.

* * *

**Betty: **

As I finish the last line of the lyrics and the last few bars of the music fade to silence, I take a deep breath and feel some of the tension slipping out of body. I did it.

At that thought, I feel the tears starting to well up, so I meet the applause of the audience with a tight smile and a small bow of the head before turning to get off the stage. Taking the last step down the small staircase backstage, I run straight into Polly's open arms and let the tears start to fall. I can tell Polly is holding back some tears of her own as she whispers: "I'm proud of you, Betty."

"How do you feel?" she asks me, as I take a step back.

"Fucking amazing", I smile.

She gives me a high five and we stand there grinning like idiots for a while, before reclaiming our seats in the audience during a commercial break. Polly is my date tonight, and she is turning out to be perfect for it. She looks like a glamourous movie star, and she is excited by everything and everyone, but keeps her cool around the most famous people. Even though I know that she desperately wishes that she could ask each and every one of them for a selfie.

When Polly is distracted, I chance a glance at Archie and Veronica, but I can't make out their expressions from where I'm sitting. Probably for the best, I tell myself and take another deep breath before focusing my attention back on the stage where Rhianna is halfway through her second acceptance speech of the evening.

* * *

.

.

* * *

**Jughead**:

"Jughead… J… Dude! What the hell man?!" Toni calls and hits the side of my arm with her fist. _Hard_. "Where the fuck did you go?"

"What?" I snap, rubbing my arm up and down.

"I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes! Did you have a stroke or something?"

Jeez… here we go. I can't stop the eye roll. "Stop being so dramatic T, I was just thinking about something."

She snorts. "Yeah right man, more like updating your spank bank."

"Huh?"

"Oh come on! You were practically drooling over Betty Cooper in that red dress!" she laughs. "Hey, no judgement here!" she continues as I give her an unamused glare. "I've got to hand it to her, she looks so damn fuckable tonight. Such a shame she's still hung up on Archie Andrews. I'd really like to try a bite of that doe-eyed, delicious pus…"

"OKAY!" I interrupt, throwing my hands up. "I get it!"

"You're too easy Jones, I've never met a straight guy who hates talking about pussy as much as you do." She chuckles.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever Toni. It is called being a gentleman. What was so incredibly important that you had to punch my arm out of its socket?"

"No Jughead, it's called being pretentious." she deadpans. "I wanted to let you know that Sweet Pea just heard from Cheryl who's going to be presenting our category. Get this, it's your little celebrity crush." She says with a chuckle that's pure evil. "So… if we win, you might wanna tuck your boner away before we get to the stage!"

Christ. It's like we are still in high school sometimes. Blushing bright red and looking around to make sure no one else heard her, I proceed to ignore Toni and Sweet Pea as they high-five and laugh at my expense.

_Fucking idiots._

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Betty**:

My heartrate is almost back to normal forty-five minutes later, when an usher comes up to stand beside my seat during another commercial break. Polly has gone to the bathroom and to pick up a drink on her way back, so I shoot her a quick text as I follow the usher backstage. I catch my reflection in a mirror as I stand waiting for my cue to go on stage. My make-up is still in place, but I look slightly flushed. Still reeling from pouring my heart out on stage an hour ago, I remind myself to take a deep breath and try to collect my thoughts.

Suddenly, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl, trying out for the cheerleading squad and being told I'm too fat. I try to block the feeling out and glance at the envelope in my hand to distract myself. "Best New Artist". I can't help but smile a little. Whoever has their name written on the card in this envelope is going to have the best night of their career so far. And in just a few minutes time, all eyes are going to be on them – not on me. The thought relaxes me – and by the time I hear my cue and walk on stage – my head is held high and I know I will make it through my introduction with a steady voice.

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Jughead**:

About three seconds after the name of our band falls from Betty Cooper's smiling lips, I feel Sweet Pea's hand land on my shoulder and give an excited shake. I meet Toni's eyes a split second later and my confused look must turn into a smile as I see her smug expression. Fangs just looks stunned, like he didn't even know we were nominated.

"We fucking made it, Jones." Toni says into my ear as we hug. And before I know it, Sweet Pea has dragged me out of my seat with an excited grin and we all make our way to the stage. Halfway there I look up and see Betty Cooper watching us with a genuine and happy smile. She's applauding with the envelope still in her hand, and as we reach the stairs, she picks up the Grammy in order to hand it over.

I have just won a fucking Grammy – years and years of playing for money on the street, or free beer in shitty dive bars, are about to pay off – but when the cold sweat breaks out in my body and I can feel my hand shaking, I know it is not because of the award. It is because I am going to get a chance to meet her again.

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Betty: **

As The Serpents make their way on stage, I feel really happy. I don't really know much about them, but I have more than a few of their songs on my favorite playlists and I hope this means they will get the wide recognition they deserve long-term. Winning as a band in this category is not easy, it's impressive really.

I have met the lead singer before, in fact, I met him that night – _the night when everything started_. It was brief, but I remember it clearly. He goes by the name of Jughead, and he is the first to make it up the stairs. At his best he plays the guitar like Buckingham, but the looks are more a rugged, young Leonardo DiCaprio. His hair is dark, his smile is mischievous and he is definitely a jeans-and-leather-jacket kind of guy. But tonight, he is in a vintage-looking black velvet suit and his hair is attractively curling down his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes. As he gets closer, I take him in fully, and I can't help that familiar feeling in my stomach that only comes from being near an incredibly good-looking guy. Hipsters aren't really my type, but _god damn_ – that. is. eye-candy.

I smile and hold the Grammy out to him as he meets my eyes and takes the last few steps towards me, followed by the other members of the band. He takes the award and goes in for a polite hug. It's quick, with only one arm snaking round my waist but he puts his hand on the small of my back, and I feel how warm he is and how he smells _reeeeally_ nice.

Uh oh. This is not good. I hope none of the cameras catch how flushed I look from just hugging an attractive man. I mean – it's been a while since I had my itches scratched, so to speak, but I'm not this desperate. Am I?

Just as I start to pull away from the hug, I feel his lips gently touch my cheek and I hear him whisper in my ear:

"Thank you. Your performance earlier was beautiful."

* * *

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Jughead**:

Fuck.

I just kissed Betty Cooper on the cheek and lingered way too long before pulling away from her. That was creepy. I'm fairly confident it looked innocent enough to everyone else, after all – kissing someone on the cheek is not something that will raise a lot of eyebrows in this crowd, but I don't even know Betty Cooper, I've barely met her before, and yet here I am acting like we're old friends. _Or something._

As I pull away, I meet her eyes for a split second and can see the surprise and slight flush in her face before she quickly puts on a charming smile again. As Toni, Sweets and Fangs exchange greetings with Betty behind me, I turn to the audience and bend down slightly to reach the microphone on the podium. My heart is going a mile a minute, and suddenly, I'm stammering out an acceptance speech I never thought I'd give.

"Wow. This… is really unexpected. Thank you so much to the Recording Academy and to everyone on our team. Pops, Cheryl, Kevin, everyone on our team, our families. Thank you to the fans, you guys are everything to us. Jellybean, I love you. Thank you."

The adrenaline is as good as a stage rush at the beginning of a sold-out show in a big venue. I have never cared much about reviews or any of those fickle things before, but damn it feels good to know that all the hard work we have put in isn't going unnoticed. I look at Toni, silently asking if she wants to add anything, but she just shakes her head a little and throws her arms around me in another hug. With a slap on Sweet Pea's back I start to follow Betty Cooper backstage for what I assume is going to be some interviews and maybe some photographs. Betty glances back at us and smiles as she greets an usher who whisks her away, presumably back out into the audience. Another usher opens the door to the press room, and suddenly it feels like everybody knows our name. Sweet Pea's low whisper echoes my thoughts exactly:

"Fuckin' hell… I think we just got famous for real."

* * *

.

.

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**Author's Note: I don't own Riverdale. Nor do I own the lyrics to Robyn's "Be Mine", which I have quoted in this chapter. English is my second language, and I don't have anyone to proofread. Please read and review, and help me determine whether to continue this story or not. Lots of love to anyone who reads this.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Present day.**

**On the I-95 from Providence, Rhode Island to New York**

* * *

**Betty:**

It's almost 2:30 in the morning, but still sleep is eluding me.  
Elude… such a weird word really. Covers all kinds of things, doesn't it? Maybe, I should try to put in a song. Great, another thing to consider instead of falling asleep.

Usually, I would follow the impulse, knowing that late nights on tour buses have given way to some of my best lyrics. But we're on our last leg of the tour, coming into New York in the early morning hours and I have to be ready to be on the breakfast show at some radio station in Midtown at 6 am. Hence, chasing Mr. Sandman for some desperate beauty sleep instead of just giving up. I twist and turn in my small bunk. The bedding is soft and grey, and it smells faintly of the lavender soap I use before bed. Finally, I take the earplugs out. They're not working anyway. Maybe the sounds of the road will help me relax.

Ethel won't say anything, but I see her worrying about me these days. She knows it has been harder than usual this time, keeping up the long hours and the constant buzzing of band members, sound crews, stylists and journalists around me every day. She knows I love it, even _crave_ it sometimes, but she's also seen the end of my limits and how quickly I can reach them.

Sometimes I feel like she's the only person in the world who really knows me. She's been my manager since I started out and, in some ways, we've grown into this life together. I never would've gotten the recognition I have without her there to keep me going, to argue and defend on my behalf. But sometimes, it is like she knows me a little too well. Like she is the mirror I am trying to avoid.

I should really try to be extra nice to her tomorrow though, I know she hates being in New York. Ever since she broke up with Dilton six months ago, she's been weird about being there - as if Dilton got custody of the whole city in the separation and Ethel now has to sneak around to avoid him. 8 million people, but Ethel is still convinced that her ex-boyfriend will be right around every corner. I mean, I love her, but she can be such a drama queen sometimes.

Come to think of it, I have more reason than Ethel to dread coming back to New York. At least she and Dilton had some closure. Meanwhile, all I have are memories of three bewitching months in the East Village, summer nights listening to all my favorite blues records and dancing around a pair of blue eyes and a grey beanie in a pre-war apartment that seemed too good to be true. If I hadn't lived through it myself, I would think it was just a perfect song I'd made up in my head. And now here I am, riding this bus all the way to Manhattan, right into the home of the one man I'm trying to… **elude**.

* * *

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**.**

**Author's note: I don't own anything Riverdale-related. Sorry for the short chapter, it's just how the story seems to unfold for me. Please read and review, I'm thankful for all comments. **


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